He was a strange man-so cool, so professional.

He was an artist. He was in complete command. I couldn't impose my will on him. I was his" to do with as he saw fit. I'd never been so completely dominated by a man. I'd never seen a man that could be so calm while working on my body. It was like he could will his response.

His hands found the top of my pantyhose. They stretched it out and began to turn them inside out. I raised my ass, making a mental note to find out how he managed to get the damned thing off more easily than I could.

He stopped nibbling and thrilling my tit for a second. Raising up, he slid his well-manicured fingers under the transparent mesh. The garment slid down both legs at the same time.

His eyes gazed hotly at the white of my panties. My snatch trembled at the wicked, lusty way they bored through the airy material. It seemed like he had X-ray vision. Growing up in the heart of movie land, and having money, I'd known a lot of sophisticated men, but John was unbelievable.

I arched my hips again. He hooked my skirt and half-slip and pulled them off. I lay there dressed in my skimpy panties. The juice bubbled through the double layer of rayon and embarrassed me.

His fingers sent chills trickling through my legs as he traced the leg bands. My tummy bounced as his fingers followed the top around. His legs slid gently up the inside of my thigh. My legs shot wide open for him. His finger traced the underside of my ass. He tucked the tight bands into the crack.

The tight elastic pulled my little split open. The juice dribbled out of my hole like a dyer. It ran along the delicate gulley and pooled on top of my asshole.

He took my hand and guided it between my own legs. My middle finger was resting on top of my cunt.